


To Be Alone with You

by mytimehaspassed



Category: The OC
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-07
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trey tells you that he’s not Ryan, his fingers gripping your arms hard, hard enough to leave bruises, Trey tells you that he’s not the one you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Alone with You

**TO BE ALONE WITH YOU**  
THE O.C.  
Trey/Seth (non-con); (implied) Ryan/Seth  
 **WARNINGS** : non-consenual sex

  
Trey tells you that he’s not Ryan, his fingers gripping your arms hard, hard enough to leave bruises, Trey tells you that he’s not the one you want. You’re against the Corian countertop, Trey against you against the corner of the island, and it’s really digging into your back but it doesn’t hurt as much as Trey’s fingers do, his hips against yours, his chest against yours, and, okay, you never really knew how strong he was. You’ve seen the Atwood muscles, the white tank tops, the wristbands and come hither smoldering bedroom eyes, but, really, you never pay attention to your brain in moments like these.

Trey’s saying, no, he’s not Ryan, and, no, he’s not something to be saved. He’s no angel, not even close, he’s done some pretty stupid things and he’s going to keep on doing them until it kills him. He’s just not. Trey’s saying, don’t pretend he’s a nice guy and he doesn’t do coke, and he hasn’t been in jail for a year, and even juvie before that. Trey’s saying, don’t pretend he won’t hurt you or Ryan or Sandy one of these days, hurt you guys something awful and then just flee, like he always does. Just run.

Trey and his grip on you, shaking and shaking and you feel like something’s about to snap, your arms or your ribcage or your fucking neck. Trey and his words so close to your own mouth, you can smell the whiskey on his breath. You don’t know why, but Trey reminds you of your mom.

You tell him, okay, okay. But he doesn’t stop, he can’t stop, and your eyes are filling up, this dizzy motion, and your head is swiveling, but Trey’s not stopping, no, he’s moving closer and closer, and, God, okay, this is in the middle of the fucking kitchen, you and him and his erection on yours, and, Jesus. Trey’s pinning you back until you’re almost bent over backwards, your hair brushing the top of the countertop, your hands flailing and landing on Trey’s hips, his feral smile, and, you. Trey says, Seth. And your lips are trying to say no, but they’re not moving, you frozen here.

Trey says, Seth.

He says, Hey.

He says, C’mon, and that’s a hand moving down your stomach, you hadn’t even realized that he had let go of your forearm, let go and started trailing his fingers so they caught on your shirt, on your jeans. And that is definitely the first button on your Levi’s, the first button sliding through the hole, and that’s definitely Trey, here, now, forcing his way into your pants, forcing his hand to pull the tab of your zipper all the way down. You squeezing your eyes shut, there are tears dripping down your face, because maybe you don’t really want this. Maybe your eyes are bigger than your stomach, and maybe one Atwood doesn’t substitute for another.

Trey says, Shh, and Hush, and, really, how can you be quiet when his hand is, oh, inside your jeans, inside your boxers, and, oh. How can you be quiet when you really don’t have any control of your mouth or what comes out, these little whimpers of pain, these little sobs because you were never really in control in the first place, never ever, and, oh God.

Trey says, Shut the fuck up, but how can you? How can you when there’s no one there to hear you scream or whimper or sob?

You’re calculating the distance from the kitchen to the pool house, how far away Ryan really is, and you come up with too big a number, too many steps, and Trey’s biting your neck now, the arch of where the column of your throat meets your collarbone, where it meets your chin, and Trey’s biting and biting, and, wow, you’ve never even had this much practice with Ryan. And, God, you can’t think of this right now, not now, when Trey’s fucking.

Fucking raping you.

You kick against him, buck against the palm of his hand, the fingernails digging into your right arm, squirm against Trey and the open V of your jeans. This is not looking good, no way, not with Trey and his fucking Atwood genes, his strength and your frail body just giving in, just falling over. Your body’s against you, your dick and Trey’s hand, and, hey, maybe you really did want this, if you’re reacting like that. But, no. Your eyes shut tight and your lip bitten until it bleeds, you’re crying and crying and Trey doesn’t even give a shit.

Trey says, Fucking shut up, and you know he’s scared, too. More angry than scared, but still, he doesn’t want Ryan to find you any more than you do. Ryan and his innocent angel eyes, and maybe you can deal with this if Ryan never finds out.

Trey says, Fucking come on, and you do, you are, and it’s this release you’ve never had, more emotional than ever, more satisfying, and, wow. Maybe you are this sick.

When Trey leans over to kiss you, you let him. You let him ghost his lips across you, and then press so hard you feel like you’re gonna break, like you’re so fragile your spine’s gonna snap, and then he’s off, letting you and your newfound bruises go. Trey’s off, but still there, and you’re wondering why he doesn’t just run like always, he’s gotten what he wants, but you’re turning your head and you see Ryan there, hunched in the doorway of the back door, mouth open in a little o. You see Ryan and, there, that’s it, that’s what your heart feels like when it breaks into a million pieces. You see Ryan and his surprise and you see Trey and his smirk and you just want to go throw up for a million years.

When Ryan finally leaves, his mumbled apology and straightened spine, Trey’s back on you like a bad habit, his whiskey breath and calloused fingers, his sunburned mouth. Trey says, Told you.

He says, You’re so fucked up.

Trey and his bruises and welts and hickeys, Trey says, I’ll never be Ryan.

Trey says, But how would your dick know the difference?


End file.
